


Consolation

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Sad, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's there for George's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

“Tea?”

“Thanks.”

But the hand George holds out is shaking, so Draco puts it straight on the coffee table. George doesn’t miss this small token of kindness and repeats weakly, “Thanks.”

Draco just nods and walks around George to take a seat on the old, ratty couch. He used to complain about it, every time he came over. He’d play too pompous to sit on it and stand pointedly across the room. But today, he settles gently next to George, only a few centimeters away. George’s breathing hitches when the couch dips, but he doesn’t say anything.

Draco drawls, “Happy Birthday,” almost too quietly for George to hear it.

There’s a pause in the quiet air as things settle. It’s late—it’s midnight. The curtains are drawn and the streets are dead, and the little apartment is too big for one person, but George can never bring himself to move. He thinks about it, sometimes, when Ron tells him he has to, or when Percy owls listings. But if he leaves then _he’ll be gone_ , and the memories are all George has left.

The Burrow isn’t the same. That was everything. This was theirs, and Draco is the only person who never tells him to move. When George brokenly half-sobs, “I miss him,” Draco only says,

“Me too.”

George nods and sucks in a breath. He wasn’t going to cry this year. That was last year, remember? He said he was going to do better this time. _Right, Fred?_ It’s been years, and just because he never grew up doesn’t mean he has to be a baby. He nods again, more firmly. To himself. He claps two large hands on his knees and says, “Right. We should do something. ...We said we were going to do something this year.”

Draco never said anything. George said he was going to do something, perhaps a little too hopefully for Draco to do anything but oblige. Draco never gives advice on this. He won’t shut up on everything else, but when it comes to this, he’s just _there_. He puts his hand over on George’s thigh and squeezes lightly. He isn’t quite frowning, isn’t quite smiling, as he says, “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Whatever you want, George. George doesn’t get that on other days from Malfoys. He’d be stupid to waste it.

He thinks about it all year, sometimes. Thinks about what he can do with it. What he wants to do with it. What he always wanted to do, even when Fred was alive, and healthy. Even when Fred was sneaking away in corridors, the one thing they couldn’t do together, and George would sit back and wait. He’d wonder sometimes—all the time—why it couldn’t be him, or why they couldn’t switch. Draco wouldn’t know, he’s sure, if he did it right. Could he have some moments? But that wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t have been then, to sneak out, and betray Fred. Would it be even worse now, when Fred can never know?

Once upon a time, George didn’t think there could be anyone worse than Draco Malfoy—anyone the Death Eater could judge. But now he isn’t so sure.

He looks at Draco’s perfect grey eyes and just says, “Thank you.”


End file.
